Letters To You // Eyeless Jack x Reader

Braille//16

WARNING: This chapter contains quotations, spoilers and the ending of the book "The Sculptor" by Gregory Funaro!

Braille: A form of written language for blind people, in which characters are represented by patterns of raised dots that are felt with the fingertips.
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Sitting in silence, Jack's gaze followed the sentences written on the pages. Wednesday passed in a blur. He had been reading throughout the whole day, only stopping when the sun began to set. The nights were meant for observing.

The boy couldn't help but think about how his human acted last night. Usually seated on her couch and watching TV, the girl seemed to switch places. Instead of her couch, she sat in a chair by the window. Strange, but also amusing to him, Jack could almost chuckle at the way she would fidget in her seat from time to time.

Focusing on the book she recommended, he let out a sigh. Having read 26 chapters of the book, he could say he found it interesting.

Killing is an Art, it said on the back. He found it humorous, how different but yet the same him and the antagonist are. Jack mutilated people for food, The Sculptor mutilated them for art. They weren't as similar besides the fact that they were both murderers.

He is The Master. Jack disliked reading Sculptor's point of view. The way he acted and was described would make the eyeless boy scrunch his face in embarrassment sometimes. There were parts of his character that showed pure narcissism. The Sculptor was a proud character. Not someone Jack would relate to, but it was worth reading it anyway.

And She is The Perfect Subject. Cathy Hildebrant reminded Jack of the human. He had wondered if the woman was her favorite character. Cathy was a smart woman, an art historian. Assuming that the girl had some connections to the writing world, to him the two were similar. Both smart and hunted by serial killers, funny.

"The Sculptor could not help but feel giddy when he imagined what Dr. Hildy's reaction would be – knew that when it was all over she would thank him when she saw, when she understood how his work changed the world. Yes, very soon she would learn to appreciate him.

Of course, in the end, it was really he who appreciated her. Oh yes, The Sculptor had much to thank her for. And hopefully, when she saw the DVD he sent her, when she understood just one of many reasons why fate brought them together, maybe she would already start to appreciate him. Just a little."

A hopeless romantic, Jack couldn't help but grin. The girl definitely knew what she was doing. He would've never expected someone like her to be that smart. Then again, no person preferring crime fiction is dumb, especially when it comes to crimes. No wonder she dug herself in a hole when she decided to research the murders for fun.

But just how smart was she really? He wondered if maybe she'd outsmart him somehow. He couldn't let that happen, of course – he wasn't even planning to. The more time she had the better it was for him. Back then in her apartment, he could've ended her life and continue with his own, but decided against it. Maybe it was morbid curiosity, waiting for her to be ready to meet him just so that he could enjoy the look on her face when she sees him. Or maybe it was a motive he wasn't aware of himself.

Continuing the story in an agonizing silence, Jack let himself laugh at the thoughts running through his head.

"As was the case when he went shopping for his material with the tranquilizer guns, The Sculptor did not pause when he shot them. However, instead of aiming for their necks, he pointed the red dot from his laser sight just underneath the hats – one silenced bullet In each of their heads, then two more once they hit the ground just to be safe."

The boy blinked a couple of times. No remorse whatsoever, he thought.

"He did not mourn the fact that he had just wasted good material or whether or not the police dash-cams had recorded the whole event. His face was covered, of course, and he could always repaint the van."

Jack re-read the last two sentences a couple of times. It reminded him of himself. There were countless times where Jack would kill with no reason. He would take someone's life away and just leave them there, not taking the kidneys, nothing. The police could never really find him even if they knew what he looked like. The reason he was even laying low was because it was bothersome to deal with cops. He was simply too lazy to deal with them.

The eyeless man knew why the girl had recommended him this specific book. He may have no eyes, but he wasn't blind. It was evident the moment he saw how the killer made replicas of Michelangelo's works for his 'beloved' art historian. The Sculptor made art for Cathy, Jack wrote letters back to the girl.

He wouldn't have noticed if he wasn't the type to look through the lines. Even if she was the one to write the letter first and start all of this, Jack was the stalker in the end.

To the girl, writing a letter to a stranger has merely been just fun, but the killer managed to find entertainment in it, slowly becoming addicted to the contact. The difference between their thinking was however, amusing. She was sure she wouldn't be making it out alive. Jack was sure he wouldn't be ending her life any time soon.

"The SAC did not need his team to tell him who it was – would have recognized the statue of the naked, muscular man with curly hair even if he had never heard of The Michelangelo Killer.
Just what has this son of a bitch started?"

Ah, so it's not over then. It would be silly of his human to recommend him a story where the killer looses. Jack smiled as he read the last page of the book, realizing that there will be more for him to read. This time, he didn't mind asking for a favor again.

"He would have to telephone the wife to say he wasn't coming home tonight.
No. After twenty years with the Bureau it just never gets any fucking easier."

Humans have it so hard, don't they?

Closing the book, the killer let out a sigh. Rubbing his face with his hands, Jack slumped back into his chair and looked at the wooden ceiling of his shed. He should respond to her letter.